


Misdirection

by Eloisa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:38:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloisa/pseuds/Eloisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Queen’s Hand is unexpectedly absent for the afternoon. The master of coin finds this convenient. The Hand’s wife finds it pleasurable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misdirection

“Beautiful,” Littlefinger breathed, staring at the shimmering auburn hair between Sansa’s parted legs. She was too deeply lost in pleasure to respond with the poise worthy of Queen Daenerys’s Hand’s wife.

He rested his hands on her lacy stocking-tops and bent his head to her again. She gasped in delight and wriggled against her armchair. “My Lord, you – have always had a – uniquely skilful tongue,” she managed.

He chuckled. His beard tickled her. “Dearest, you have _no_ idea.” The tongue flicked across her nub again and she squeaked.

The squeak became a cry as his hands drifted up her thighs. His forefinger stroked the inside of her opening as his tongue worked outside it. She threw back her head and moaned. Her body suddenly ached for him to slide his whole hand – or more – inside her. The thought of him breaking her maidenhead... “Oh, Petyr!” she gasped as her pleasure peaked.

Littlefinger kissed her stocking-top before rising. An impish smile sat on his narrow face. He helped her to her feet with a polite bow: she released her blue-gold skirts. “My Lord,” she said, curtseying, “you have always treated me so generously.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“No – I owe you a great debt.” She continued her curtsey until she knelt on the floor before him. “When a lady receives a singular favour, she should return it.” She drew his hard manhood from his green breeches and began to lick, slow glides from root to tip.

“Oh, Sansa,” he breathed. “You – you – _Sansa_ ,” and his hands crept to her hair.

“Please tell me if I’m doing this correctly,” she said between licks. A groan answered her. She smiled up at him. She was doing it correctly.

A while later his panting became a low moan, and she withdrew her head and caught his seed in her discarded smallclothes. He fumbled his manhood back into his breeches. The hand that drew her to her feet shook in hers.

Sansa gave Littlefinger a perfect hostess’s smile. “I am sorry that my husband forgot his appointment with you, my Lord. I hope I kept you tolerably entertained in his absence.”

“Your – hospitality – was as excellent as ever, my lady.” He kissed her hand, the soul of gentility, but tucked her stained smallclothes into his pocket before bowing his way out of the Hand’s apartment.

As the door closed, Sansa’s smile faded. She found her wine cup behind a vase of snowdrops, swilled some around her mouth and delicately spat into the vase.

She went into her husband’s study. As she entered, the secret passage opened in the empty fireplace and Tyrion sauntered out with a roll of papers under one arm. Sansa curtsied. “You missed your appointment with Lord Baelish, my lord.”

“I bet he was sorry about that.” Tyrion waddled to his desk. “Did you have a nice afternoon?”

“Most enjoyable. And you?”

He unrolled his papers and displayed the top sheet, a copy of the Red Keep’s expenses ledger. “Informative, at least.” 


End file.
